


Surfacing

by neomeruru



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Fluff, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild Kink, Sleep, Sleep Bondage, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 19:24:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4449200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neomeruru/pseuds/neomeruru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian wakes up with his hands bound and enjoys it very much, actually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surfacing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amurderof](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amurderof/gifts).



> Indulgent fluff, written for [amurderof](http://archiveofourown.org/users/amurderof), sort of. It's a long story. Beta'd by [AislinCade](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AislinCade), with great thanks.

Sleep fades from him gently, slips away from him like washing ashore on a beach. He feels first the sun on his face, then the warm spring breeze that brings the noise of leaves and the smell of morning glory. He is in Bull's bed, he thinks, still warm from dreaming. He feels loose-limbed and comfortable, and —

 _Safe_ , he thinks, the concept bringing a smile to his face.

He is not alone, he knows; the source of the warmth, his Bull, presses against him from shoulder to ankle. His breathing is even, but not in the way of sleep, and how marvelous is it that Dorian knows the difference now, has laid awake against the Bull's broad grey chest enough times that he knows how he relaxes, truly relaxes, in sleep.

He takes a deep breath and shifts, breaking the clean sleep-sweat adhesion of their bodies, and feels Bull's big hand stroke down his naked side.

"Peace," Bull murmurs, the sound a kiss on the back of his neck.

"Mmm," Dorian answers, mouth too uncooperative for the insurmountable challenge of words. He rubs his slack face against the grey bicep thoughtfully curled under his head. _It is late afternoon_ , he remembers: tender wanting glances across the long hall at lunch, hands and kisses up the stairs to Bull's room, leisurely undressing himself under Bull's worshipful gaze. Falling into bed with him, laughing, Bull's warm mouth, his teeth on his neck while he opened Dorian with sure fingers, whispering comfort and praise as he took him slowly, pinning Dorian's entire body into the mattress. Their arms and legs tangled together in the sheets, fingers intertwined, falling asleep in Bull's arms.

It used to be frantic, going off at a half-tilt, Dorian with everything to prove to the world and nothing left to lose. Bull took all his hurt and self-loathing, bearing it just like he bore the red furrows of Dorian's nails. Leaving an impression on something, no matter the harm he caused himself or Bull, his pleasure spiteful on purpose because it left the greater mark to say he'd been there. That he'd mattered. That someone had cared. Loved him, even.

How his motivations had changed, while he was otherwise engaged.

Bull keeps stroking down his side, keeps his breath slow and even against Dorian's neck, and Dorian can feel the lassitude of sleep take him again. His whole body feels warm and slow, part of Bull, part of the bed, the small center of a larger world that revolves around this point.

"Bull," he says, voice soft from sleep and sticking in his throat.

Bull shushes him, runs his hand down Dorian's arms to link their fingers. "Peace, _kadan_ ," he repeats. "You don't have to move. I'm here."

Dorian goes to clasp Bull's hand in his own and is puzzled, in a very distant and pleased sort of way, to find… he can't. And oh, _oh_ — there _had_ been rope involved, the memory of Bull gently wrapping him from elbow to wrist coming back to him through the thick veil of sleep. He shifts his hands and can feel the thin cord move with them, cocooning his forearms.

Heat prickles up his thighs, his stomach. A small movement of his legs brings the memory that they're tied together as well, at the ankles. One of Bull's heavy legs rests on top, immobilizing. Comforting. The hand of the arm that Dorian's resting his head on cards through his hair, rubbing gently at his scalp. There is nowhere else to be.

"I kept you up too late," Bull says, the affection warm in his voice. "Falling asleep on me in the middle of the day like an old man."

Bull's hand leaves his bound wrists and traces down his chest, blunt nails scratching softly around one nipple before giving it a pinch. He rolls it between his fingertips, drawing it to a peak, and Dorian's hips jerk with recent sense memory. He hums deep in his throat, arches his back, pressing deeper against the soft pillow of Bull's belly, the answering roll of Bull's hips that brings his cock in contact with Dorian's thighs.

Bull rumbles in growing interest, his hand traveling lower, scritching through the trail of hair that grows from navel to the base of Dorian's cock, and Dorian groans, shifts in Bull's all-encompassing hold. The back of Bull's knuckles runs down the length of him, eliciting a full-body shudder and a sound that falls from Dorian's lips like a prayer. He takes a gulp of air like a man submerged.

"Do you want me to fuck you again?" Bull asks. His voice is barely anything, but so loud in Dorian's ear.

He cants his hips, rubs the cleft of his ass against Bull. He can feel Bull's hardening cock slip between his cheeks, the way warm and slick from where Bull fucked him earlier, before he fell asleep in his arms. "Please, _please_ ," he whispers.

He doesn't know where it comes from. But he aches to be filled by Bull again, to have Bull not only all around him, head to toe, but inside him, filling him up, moving in him, coming in him again. The ache is a tangible feeling in his belly, a clench of hot lust that feels as if it comes from far away.

Bull's hand encircles him gently and strokes, and Dorian's breath quickens. He can't stop shifting, not testing the Bull's hold so much as rutting against it. He turns his head, almost the only thing he can do, and mouths at Bull's arm, teeth and tongue and lips loose and needy.

The sound Bull makes as he lazily strokes Dorian's cock is mostly rumble, vibrating through Dorian where they meet chest to back. Dorian barely stifles a cry, writhing in Bull's arms, working Bull's cock between his thighs. The way it grazes him is maddening, makes him burn too hot. _Maker_ , he wants it. Wants everything.

The hand tangled in his hair slips free, trailing down Dorian's face. He turns his mouth to it, seeking Bull's fingers blindly. He feels one big finger trace his lips and he opens his mouth, greedy.

The Bull huffs, laughing, his breath warm in the crook of his neck. "Shit, you never came back up, huh?" The kisses he lays across Dorian's shoulders are biting, bringing the blood up to bruise. The way he likes it, the bright flare of pain making him sink deeper. "Stay there," Bull says into his skin, "Stay down there. I've got you."

Words don't come to Dorian, down too deep. He nods, jerkily, and Bull slips his fingers into Dorian's mouth. And now he's holding Dorian by the jaw, two fingers pressing down on his tongue, and Dorian sobs into the solid weight. His blood pounds in his ears, filling his head with noise.

The air is cold around his cock when Bull removes his hand and he whines, bereft, but Bull strokes down his trembling flank until he stills. "Look at you," he murmurs, a hint of admiration in his voice. "I could do anything to you right now, couldn't I?"

Dorian moans his assent, mouth too full of Bull's fingers to beg for it: _please, please touch me where I ache for you, please open me up again, please let me feel you—_

"Gonna fuck you again," Bull is saying over the rush of blood in his ears, and his hand travels down to circle Dorian's slack, wet hole, wrenching a long shuddering whine from Dorian. "Gonna fill you up like you need," he continues, slipping one finger in easily.

Bull breathes out heavily, reverently: "Feel that, look how well you take it."

Dorian does, barely feels a burn when Bull withdraws his finger and returns with two. His whole body is relaxed, held together only by the anchoring ropes at wrists and feet and the bulwark of Bull's great body behind him, around him. Bull doesn't waste motion in bringing Dorian off with his fingers, just pumps them lazily in and out of him, spreading the come and slick around his hole.

Like watching his body from a great distance he feels Bull move his legs where he needs them, bending him pliantly at the knees. The head of Bull's cock slips through the slick to rest against his hole, urging a helpless, breathless moan from Dorian. He mouths the Bull's fingers, cants his hips to open himself to him.

"Sssssh, ssshh—" Bull starts, his curses hissing off into nothing as he slides his cock into Dorian. Slowly, so slowly, holding Dorian around the belly, a steadying hand guiding Dorian back onto his cock. He's huge, the centre of Dorian's existence, the stretch of him burning everything down to one hot point between them. He gets a few inches in before he's stopped by the natural resistance of Dorian's body, waits there as Dorian breathes and whines through it, caught between his cock and the hand pressing low on his stomach.

Dorian pants around his fingers, messy, utterly pliant, utterly entrusted to Bull. Bull sinks his teeth into Dorian's shoulder and shifts his weight, pulling out of Dorian minutely to spread the slick again before guiding the rest of his cock into Dorian in one tortuous slide. Dorian makes a noise like all the air's been wrung out of him, a half-feral cry choked off by the way his breath hitches and comes ragged.

Bull reverses his hand and takes Dorian's cock in his grip, pumping it a few times to bring it to full hardness before releasing it to bob untouched against the mattress. Dorian can only moan now, a low breathless growl that sounds like it comes right from the core of him. Bull moves his hips when he feels Dorian go languid again, gently fucking into him with slow strokes. Tentative, at first, until all at once Dorian's body relaxes around him and the way is sure and easy.

"Fuck, you're good," he murmurs into the soft, sweaty skin behind Dorian's ear. "You're so good for me." He puts his hand on Dorian's hip and digs in, three indents of his remaining fingers, wants to leave a mark for Dorian to see and grouse over when he surfaces. "You don't have to do anything, just be good for me, _kadan_."

Dorian tongues his fingers and Bull listens to the way Dorian's body begs for him still, thrusts them in and out of his mouth in time with the lazy roll of his hips. Bull is everywhere. Everything. Dorian is bound by him even where they don't touch, clasps his captured hands together like a man at an altar and submits, feels his head slip under the dark waters.

The Bull watches Dorian sink beyond comprehension, farther than the Bull can reach him. Dorian's bound hands twist fitfully in the covers, anchoring himself even deeper. Even Dorian's feet are wrapped around his leg, every part of him needing Bull, needing Bull to guide him through the long stretching dark.

He doesn't have long — the slick won't last forever, the glass jar of it too far to retrieve without breaking Dorian out too early. But he wants, oh he _wants_ to fill Dorian up again, get him messy and wet again just how Bull knows he likes. Wants to protect the tender gift of Dorian's submission to him.

He tucks his forehead against Dorian's neck and speeds the thrusting of his hips, relishes the way it makes Dorian's whine stutter, the breath leaving him in gasps and sobs. It must be good; his whole body is trembling, the sheets darkening where his prick leaks and leaks on the bed. Bull digs his teeth into the flesh of Dorian's shoulder and chases it, covers Dorian's body with his own and pounds him into the mattress.

When his orgasm comes it is blinding; Bull's hips thrust erratically twice, three times, stuttering into Dorian at the last as he empties deep within him. Bull gasps, lets his fingers fall from Dorian's mouth, wraps that hand lightly around Dorian's neck as the other goes to his untouched cock. It's hard, so hard, dripping with precome that eases the slide of Bull's hand. Dorian's voice returns to him, still wordless; he writhes against Bull but the entirety of Bull keeps him safe, the hand at his throat keeping Dorian from travelling up the bed as his bound feet kick in reflex.

He's still seated in Dorian when he comes, can feel the way Dorian's sleep-slack muscles clench around him. They both make the same noise as Dorian comes across the sheets, up his heaving chest, over Bull's knuckles. He strokes Dorian through it, until the oversensitivity makes him whine deep in his throat and writhe helpless in his grip. Bull has no desire to torture Dorian today, not when he's already where he wants to be, so he gently lays Dorian's cock against his quivering thighs and pulls him closer, tucking Dorian close against his body.

Dorian's breathing is still high and thready, and Bull runs his fingers down Dorian's face before tracing the same path with gentle kisses. Dorian's face turns to him instinctively, like a flower to the sun, so Bull kisses him. Dorian's mouth is slack but welcoming, clumsy with sluggish desire, and Bull enjoys it thoroughly.

Slowly he can feel Dorian come back to himself, wading out of the depths of his mind, wherever he goes on the rare, beautiful occasion Bull can take him there.

" _Amatus_ ," he whispers against Bull's lips, more breath than word, nipping at Bull's lip when he smiles, chasing him with a greedy mouth. Bull can feel Dorian's whole body awaken against him.

"Welcome back," Bull answers, kissing him again, this time as deeply as Dorian likes. He moves his body to slip free of Dorian, dips his finger in the mess of his leaking hole to stroke him leisurely. "Got you something."

Dorian twitches in an aborted movement, breaks the kiss to laugh a little. "Let me touch you, you savage."

"Oh," Bull says, archly. Dorian's bound hands flex, grasping at the air. "I suppose I will. I've caught you, after all."

The knots are easier to undo than they were to tie. Bull'd picked up a great deal of knotwork in his day, both ornamental and functional, and these are good for both. He picks out the keystone knot and the whole array loosens enough for Dorian to wiggle his hands free, going immediately to Bull's face to drag him in for a flurry of insistent, hungry kisses.

Bull only breaks from Dorian to shuffle down the bed and do the same to the simple knots that bind Dorian's ankles, taking each foot in his hands to lay a tender kiss on the arch. His hands are big enough that he can encircle Dorian's ankles one hand for each, and he does, rubbing the delicate skin to encourage the rope welts to lift. Dorian settles against the pillows, arms folded above his head while his eyes drift closed.

"Don't fall asleep on me again," Bull chides. "You'll sleep through dinner."

Dorian's smile is sleepy, satiated. "I seem to recall you taking ownership of my state earlier."

"Oh, you remember that part, do you?"

Dorian doesn't snort, but it's close. "Give a man a warm bed after a late night and all of a sudden he's an old man for taking advantage of it."

Bull grins, shaking his head. He works his way up Dorian's calves, enjoying the way it makes Dorian squirm in pleasure. "If I had known, I wouldn't have gone to the trouble of tiring you out first."

Dorian kicks him squarely in the chest: a good hit, even if he still pulls his punches. "You wouldn't dare."

Bull takes Dorian's hands at the wrist and rubs them as well, chafing them between his hands, eye fixed on Dorian and his sleep-lidded gaze. A warmth blooms in his heart unrelated to desire — the sweet ferocity of being trusted, perhaps. Perhaps it is love. He might not know.

Bull only shakes his head again and presses a kiss to the inside of Dorian's wrists. "I wouldn't dare."

Eyes closed, loose-limbed, Dorian reaches for him. Bull goes to him, pulls his pliant body into his arms and tucks Dorian's head against his neck. Dorian breathes in and out slowly, runs his hands over Bull's biceps, down his sides. Grounds himself again with Bull at the centre.

"Are you here again?" Bull asks, and Dorian nods. "Good," he says, stroking Dorian's hair, "You were deep."

Dorian nods again, and Bull gets the sense he doesn't want to talk about it with words, and that's fine. He moves them so he lies on his back against the pillows, Dorian snug against his side, legs intertwined. He pulls the covers over them both and smiles fondly at the pleased hum it elicits from Dorian, strokes his back softly until Dorian's breath comes slow and even with sleep again.

**Author's Note:**

> I draw things! [Check me out on Tumblr!](http://chaoslindsay.tumblr.com)


End file.
